


Campfire

by redtrouble



Series: Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Sir Brash [2]
Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 16:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15198731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Sir Brash confronts Sir Mark about his ex-fiancée after meeting Bright in prison. (Spoilers, sort of. Should play the game first.) Rated M for mature language.





	Campfire

Sir Brash arrived at the war camp by nightfall, his entire journey plagued with questions of muffins and thoughts of a firehair. He had heard all the rumors about Bright and Target Practice—how they had been engaged until she was accused of murder, executed, and revived by her demonheart. Then, the noble knight had broken off his relationship with her and gotten engaged to a local guard. She was uglier than a pile of rocks but Brash hadn’t been too impressed by any of the Feline population. Besides, the man had to fuck _something_ , right?

But then he met her. Bright. And everything changed.

Brash entered camp, walking brusquely past the target dummies and through the maze of tents. His blood was up and he was on a mission. The Feline soldiers were gathered around a large campfire and cookpot, laughing and chattering. And there was Target Practice, smiling and with his hand on his sword—always on that fucking sword—and his ugly wench perched on his knee, laughing at whatever stupid fucking joke the pussycats made.

They were shocked when he barreled into their circle, stomping toward their commander. Brash picked Target Practice up by his tabard so suddenly that the wench’s ass hit the dirt and his feet actually came off the ground for a second.

“Sir Target Practice!” Brash exclaimed, trying to stifle the rage he felt with feigned revelry. “Guess who I met today.” He didn’t wait for him to answer. “Your fiancée!” He eyed the wench on the ground and corrected himself with, “Your _first_ one.” He grinned maliciously at the wimp knight’s stunned face. “They said she was beautiful but I didn’t expect it to be true,” he growled. “Just how was it you let a gorgeous wench like that slip through your fingers? Oh, that’s right. You let them cut off her head.”

“Sir—!” Target Practice exclaimed.

“Lucky for me,” he interrupted him, “it grew back.”

Brash sensed the other soldiers around the camp stir uneasily. Some of them started to rise. Brash twisted at the waist to flash a warning and they immediately sat back down. Everyone in this camp was fucking scared to death of him and his Scarcewall friends.

“Did you all know ‘Sir’s’ fiancée?” Brash asked them, quickly adding, “The first one.” The men exchanged uncomfortable glances and a few nodded hesitantly. “Wasn’t she just the sweetest little cunt you ever saw?”

“How dare you—!” the Feline commander exclaimed. Brash whirled back to him.

“Now, no need to be shy,” he said, clapping Target Practice on the shoulder and squeezing so hard he grimaced. “Unless you never saw her cunt.” The boy was purple with fury and embarrassment. “Missed your chance and can’t fuck a girl in prison?” He smirked. “Well, _you_ can’t. I don’t really have that problem.”

Target Practice shoved his hand away, face flushed with rage. “Don’t you speak of her—”

“Oh, don’t worry about _her_. I’d say she’s over you.” He held up his hand. “Ate right out of my palm like a good little pussy.” He stepped so close to him that he could smell him, his fear, his vanity. “Did you think she would pine for you?” The man’s brows pulled together, sweat dripping down his forehead. Pathetic. Brash whispered, “Too bad. She was so sweet for me.” He breathed hot air through his nostrils, imagining things that never happened. “Innocent, too.”

From the look on Target Practice’s face, he was imagining it, too, and he didn’t seem pleased. He seemed sickened, infuriated. Did the bastard still love her or was he just pissed he hadn’t left his mark on her sooner? Or maybe he had and just hated the thought that he couldn’t have her anymore. He had certainly traded down. Had he even really loved her? The swine didn’t deserve her.

“Good news, though,” Brash continued, clapping him on the back. “She’ll be here by noon. You’ll have your chance to confess any lingering regrets.” He enjoyed the way Target Practice looked away from the group and how his wench bristled, glaring at the ground. “And then she’s all mine,” Brash growled.

And without wasting anymore looks or words on the Feline fuckers, he stormed out of their circle and into his own.

**Author's Note:**

> I never really intended to rewrite the whole game through Brash's perspective. I only meant to write a couple stories (Firehair, Hairbush, and possibly Vapor), but for various reasons, I kept going. I realized that by skipping the war camp scene with Mark, I was missing a huge element of Brash angst and decided to go back and write it. However, as I was working on it, I got inspired to write this piece as well. Thanks for indulging me!


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